Emotionless
by Prusso-HetalianAddict
Summary: In which it's April 19th and America can't take his mind off the past long enough to fall asleep, so he sends England an e-mail. Features Canada and mentions France, Spain, and OC Malta. Based off of Good Charlotte's Emotionless. I own nothing except for Malta. R&R. Rated: T for mentions of Alcohol, violence, and England's slip of a certain British swear word.


**Hey guys so I'm back from hiatus for the fleeting moment with my first ever Hetalia fanfic. I'd been dying to write one for a while now, but had decided not to write one considering I had no clue what I could possibly add to the fanfic community that wouldn't be something so... well ridiculous. But as I started listening to the song in this story, the idea started forming in my head faster than I could comprehend until finally, this came out of it.**

**So with that said, I, BleachedToushiroAddict proudly present you Emotionless.**

**I do not own Hetalia or Emotionless. All credit goes to Himaruya Hidekazu and Good Charlotte. **

* * *

**_A/N: _**

**_Underlined- E-mail_**

**_Italics- Memories that go through England's head as he reads the e-mail_**

**_Alfred- America_**

**_Matthew- Canada_**

**_Arthur/Iggy- England/Great Britain_**

**_Francis- France_**

**_Antonio- Spain_**

**_Emma- Malta_**

Alfred tossed in his bed for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night. The fourth of July was a day of celebration. It was a day of pride and joy to the man that represented, and therefore was America. It was the day he and his people gained independence. April 19, however, was a different story. April 19, 1775 was a day he regretted the most. Of course there's totally no way he'd ever say that to anyone, dudes!

The blonde man sighed and sat up, finally deciding there was no sleep to be done this night, no matter how much he wished it would come. Memories of the American Revolution haunted his every thought, but there was nothing he could do to distract him or feel better about all the harsh words shared between himself and Arthur.

"Dang it, dude," he exclaimed. "I'm the hero, there's gotta be _something _I can do to save myself!" The man glanced at the phone. No, no way, he thought to himself. There's no way the hero will ask anyone for help. Aflred J. Jones is not a loser, he's a hero and he will never, ever, EVER resort to asking for help.

-time skip-

"Dude, Canada, what do you do when you can't sleep because you want to say something to someone but you don't want to actually say it."

"America, it's four in the morning. Can't I go back to sleep," responded the soft voice of the timid man that was Alfred's twin brother.

"No way, bro; dude you have to help me, hero's orders! A side-kick can't just ignore those, Mattie!"

A sigh was heard followed by mumbling. "I'm not a side-kick, you hoser."

"Whatever, Mattie, just help me, please!"

"Write a letter."

Alfred stared at the phone as if it was the dumbest thing he'd heard in his life. "Dude, Canada, I don't want to actually say i-"

"Just write the letter, or e-mail, or whatever addressed to England… But don't send it," his brother explained, frustrated. With that he hung up.

-time skip-

Alfred stared at the computer screen for a long while. He'd spent the rest of the morning working on the letter that was indeed addressed to his ex-guardian. The American was never as unconfident as he had been in that moment, debating as to whether or not it was a good idea to allow the Englishman to receive the composition. He had spent an awfully long time working on it, for reals, yo… Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea. Besides, who even checks their e-mail anymore?

Flashes of two wonderful boys growing up together ran through Arthur Kirkland's mind that evening as his computer had alerted him to an incoming message from Alfred Jones. Of course the 19th of April was a day that still haunted the man just as much, if not more than his former colony.

The Battle of Lexington and Concord, "The Shot Heard 'Round the World;" it still rang in his mind. The gut wrenching words still pierced his heart.

Arthur sighed. What could the bloody git possibly want now?

**From: "Alfred Jones" -Al the Hero (at) Gmail . com-**

**To: Kirkland . Arthur (at) Hotmail . com**

**Sent: Thursday, April 19, 2012 7:13:49 PM**

**Subject: Hey Dad**

Hey Dad,

I'm writing to you… Not to tell you, that I still hate you. Just to ask you how you feel, and how we fell apart… How this fell apart.

Are you happy out there in this great wide world? Do you think about your sons? Do you miss your little girl? 

_ "England, look, look," cried the voice of a small girl. _

_ The man chuckled to himself at the excitement. "Yes, love?"_

_ "I found a puppy," She exclaimed, holding up a small, white dog with fur so long it practically danced around the small creature's paws as Emma jumped up and down with excitement. "I'm going to call it a Maltese puppy."_

_ "Well she's quite a graceful, little rascal, wouldn't you say?" He smiled as the girl nodded, proud of her discovery. In that triumphant expression that painted the innocent girl's face, Arthur saw a tiny Alfred spinning a bull, twinkling laughter filling the air; he saw small Matthew wearily staring at his new guardian, Francis having just left the boy. The moment he'd addressed the small child, Matthew smiled proudly, happy that another person was able to see him. Then, the revolution filled his thoughts. Hateful words and cold stares as red and blue fell down shot by shot._

_ Without thinking, he lent down and held the small girl in his arms. "You're going to be strong and independent one day, Malta. You should see this discovery as the beginning of many more to come."_

_ The tiny brunette stared up at him with an odd look. "Independent…? Like Amewica and… what's his name?" Arthur chuckled, but froze at the next words she spoke, feeling a tug at his heart. "I'm never going to do that. I want to stay with you, England."_

_-_time skip-

_Not long after WWII, Emma had grown from the little girl who'd run to him after escaping France, to the teen standing in front of him, smiling sadly at her father. "England, I don't want this to be the way it was like with America and you. We don't have to do this the hard way. I'm not a little girl anymore... You can't make every single one of my decisions."_

_Arthur stared at the girl, wanting to lash out at her in the way he had with Alfred. At that thought he froze, realizing that was exactly why he couldn't lash out at her. Emma was right. She was capable of taking care of herself. Finally, after a stubborn and stressful time, Arthur held his hand out to the girl, shaking her own. "You are now your own independent country, under the conditions that Queen Elizabeth II remains the Head of State until further elections are established."_

_With those words, Emma smiled at the man, ready to burst with the same excitement she'd shown him years ago. "Now why couldn't it have been like this with America, Dad?" And then, she was gone._

When you lay your head down, how do you sleep at night? Do you even wonder if we're all right? But we're all right… We're all right 

It's been a long hard road without you by my side. Why weren't you there all the nights that we cried? You broke my mother's heart; You broke your children for life. It's not okay, but we're alright.

_ A dent covered wall stared ahead the Englishman with the bloody knuckles. That bloody idiot had won. It was over. He'd just spent hours under the rain, crying his heart out, drinking in hopes of passing out, failing at passing out, and taking out his frustrations on the wall of his room. What would this mean for him… for his other colonies… for the colonies of Francis and Antonio? Surely this would start a chain reaction and of course those bloody frogs would blame him for it._

_ Why? Why couldn't he just get some bloody sleep? Why wasn't the comforting feeling of the pillow enough? Would Alfred even be able to get through this without the proper guide? _

_ It was all that bloody Francis' fault! Alfred would be right under his wing had it not been for Francis deciding to go against his word and help his colony revolt. What if Matthew decided to follow Alfred's footsteps? He cursed the Frenchman vehemently between drinking and punching the walls. He didn't care how low some of the comments he'd made to the frog were. He most certainly didn't realize the state Alfred was in, or how the Canadian was crying for his brother, who was trying to be strong even as the tears threatened to over flow._

I remember the days, you were a hero in my eyes, but those were just a long lost memory of mine. I spent so many years learning how to survive. Now, I'm writing just to let you know that I'm still alive. 

_ "No way," exclaimed Alfred. "Is it really okay for me to have it?"_

_ Arthur turned around to smile at the young boy. "Of course it is. I did make it special, just for you, America." The little boy stared at the object in his hands with a look of awe._

_ "Woah," he said softly. "Man, this is cool! Thanks, Mr. Britain, sir!"_

_ Arthur chuckled. "Take good care of it," he began. "After all, I nearly broke my hand when I was piecing it together."_

_ "Wow, now I've got my very own toy soldiers!" Alfred then gasped. "You made all their faces different!" That was the day Arthur knew the hero obsessed boy truly looked up to him. _

_ Arthur proudly knelt down in front of the boy. He was so happy Alfred liked the gift. "I painted each of their faces separately."_

_-time skip-_

_"It looks expensive," the American said, a disappointed look on his face as he held up the suit given to him by the man he had the pleasure of calling his guardian. "Too bad I'll never wear it."_

_ Alfred kept frowning as Arthur responded. Later on during the Revolution, Alfred would come to realize that day was when he truly knew how little he actually depended on Arthur. It was the day Arthur realized subconsciously that Alfred could manage perfectly fine on his own. Arthur was no longer important. He was a hero no more._

The days I spent so cold, so hungry were full of hate. I was so angry. Those scars run deep inside this tattooed body. There's things I'll take, to my grave; but I'm okay… I'm okay.

Love,

Al

PS: Sometimes I forgive and this time I'll admit that I miss you.

-time skip-

Arthur stared at the blank composition on the screen in front of him. It was midnight for him, evening barely beginning for Alfred. The Englishman made sure to have been thoroughly intoxicated by the time he would come to type out his thoughts. And yet no matter how long he stared at the screen, the words wouldn't form.

-time skip-

**From: "Iggy" -Kirkland . Arthur (at) Hotmail . com-**

**To: Al the hero (at) Gmail . com**

**Sent: Thursday, April 19, 2012 7:09:55 PM**

**Subject: RE: Hey Dad**

America,

Do me a favor and get some bloody sleep, you git, while I try to do the same. 

Regards,

England

PS: I always think of you and your brother, twit. And as for France, well he very much deserved that chewing out he got that night. Now stop worrying about the stupid past and go back to being the obnoxious wanker that is my son.

* * *

**From: "Alfred Jones" -Al the Hero (at) Gmail . com-**

**To: Kirkland . Arthur (at) Hotmail . com**

**Sent: Thursday, April 19, 2012 7:13:49 PM**

**Subject: Hey Dad**

Hey Dad,

I'm writing to you… Not to tell you, that I still hate you. Just to ask you how you feel, and how we fell apart… How this fell apart. Are you happy out there in this great wide world? Do you think about your sons? Do you miss your little girl? When you lay your head down, how do you sleep at night? Do you even wonder if we're all right? But we're all right… We're all right. It's been a long hard road without you by my side. Why weren't you there all the nights that we cried? You broke my mother's heart; You broke your children for life. It's not okay, but we're alright. I remember the days, you were a hero in my eyes, but those were just a long lost memory of mine. I spent so many years learning how to survive. Now, I'm writing just to let you know that I'm still alive. The days I spent so cold, so hungry were full of hate. I was so angry. Those scars run deep inside this tattooed body. There's things I'll take, to my grave; but I'm okay… I'm okay.

Love,

Al

PS: Sometimes I forgive and this time I'll admit that I miss you.

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**Thanks so much for taking the time to read this! Reviews are welcome, especially those with constructive criticism. Once again, I do not own Hetalia or the song Emotionless, or Hotmail or Gmail. With that being said:**

**Flying Mint Bunnies-**

**BleachedToushiroAddict**


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